


skin to bone

by Anemoi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:42:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/pseuds/Anemoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mats forgets something important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	skin to bone

Mats gets home, and he's turned on the TV before he realizes what day it was. The channel is set to Bundesliga football, which means it's replaying the derby match, which means that of course he sees Bene's angry face as he screams at him over the referee's arms, which means of course that was when his stomach chooses to drop to his feet as the fact swims to the forefront of his mind.

_28_ _th_ _February. Bene's birthday._

Mats stands up, head swimming. Then he's shrugging on his jacket- _not the Dortmund one, Jesus, Hummels-_ and sliding his feet in to trainers. He grabs the car keys, and, hesitating, a bottle of wine from the cabinet.

 

                                                                                                     *              *              * 

It takes him 45 minutes to drive to Bene's house, and Mats doesn't think the whole way. He tries to not think, at least, turns the radio up loud to some weird german pop rap that wasn't really his thing but sufficed to drown out his thoughts. It was evening, the sun heating up his dash board. His stomach gurgles on empty, and he wonders if he should have waited, maybe ate something and called Bene to make sure he wasn't still angry because of the match.

He couldn't wait, though, and he knew it. His stomach clenched as he pulled in to Bene's drive, and parked beside Bene's car.

 

                                                                                                       *              *              * 

Bene opens the door a moment before Mats was about to give up and leave. In fact he was just turning away, rubbing his cold hands, when Bene calls him.  
He turns back, almost reluctant.

“Hey.” Mats says awkwardly, hovering on the doorstep. Bene doesn't look at him, or open the door wider.

“So I remembered-” Mat's gestured with his bottle of wine, cutting off because he couldn't bring himself to formulate the proper words. The morning hung over them like some sort of dark cloud, even though the day was fine. You could almost believe spring was nearly here, the way the sun was shining. “Happy birthday.” He finishes lamely, holding out the bottle.

Bene sighs, looking up at the cloudless blue sky, and opens the door wider.

 

                                                                                                         *              *              * 

“Where's Lisa?” Mats says, setting the wine gently down on the counter.

“She's in hospital. Her kidneys..” Bene doesn't finish. He still wouldn't meet Mats' eyes. Instead he just sits on the couch, wordless. Mats wonders if he was supposed to leave.

Instead he says, “I'm sorry to hear that.” and then, a beat later on the same breath, “I'm not sorry about what happened today.” Bene's shoulders tense, and he clenches his hands together.

“Ok.” He says finally. He's still looking at the floor.

“You know you were wrong.” Mats tries again. He moves closer, standing in front of Bene like he could force some confession out of him.

Bene still doesn't say anything, and it was just going to drive Mats crazy. He just wanted- hell, he wanted the Bene that was rational and didn't care what happened on the pitch and promised him, serious eyed, that he would never let their professional positions come between what they had together. And if that wasn't what he deserved right now, then the Bene who screamed at him on the pitch, who would have shoved him to the ground as though he was nobody that mattered, even that Bene would do. He wanted a reaction, some sort of human feeling. They weren't automatons built to clearly segregate professional and personal lives. He could admit that now, sick in his stomach and knowing that they were too naïve to know better when they decided to be friends and- and more than friends. To think the rules were a joke and nothing mattered more than each other.

He sinks to his knees in front of Bene, reaching out a hand. Bene doesn't flinch, and Mats thanks god as he wraps his hands around Bene's face and leans their foreheads together.

Bene's hands clenched the front of Mat's jacket, twisting the fabric.

“I'm worried about Lisa.” He says finally, in a small voice.

-and Mats can only say _I know,_ and _I'm so sorry_ again as he holds him, and kisses his cheeks.

 

                                                                                                            *              *              *  

They knew the day would come, Mats thinks, Bene's head resting heavy on his shoulder. It had just come without warning, like a storm or a rage or some sort of natural disaster, and it's spun them both out of control. The price of being who they were was just too heavy to pay.

“Hey. Hey, this doesn't change anything, okay? One match doesn't change anything.” Mats says, jostling Bene's head up gently, suddenly afraid.

Bene looks at him sadly, that sweet smile on the corner of his mouth that struck Mats dumb every time he looked at him. Mats' fear keeps twisting up a notch. He holds Bene's face, hoping his fingers don't tremble.

Instead of answering, Bene just kisses him, lazy and slow, some reminder of Brazil, the way his kisses had tasted of champagne and victory. It brought back everything. How he had kissed Mats, on the beaches under the sun, and the way the sun touched their skins, honey gold and warm.

So Mats crawls awkwardly on top of Bene, unbuttons his shirt with hands that don't shake at all, kisses every bruise littered down his chest.

Mats works him slow, and at first Bene clenches the side of the sofa, the cushions, everything that wasn't Mats, his eyes screwed shut like he didn't want to see Mats between his legs, sucking him off. Mats was stubborn, because he always is, on the pitch and off it, and patient. Bene hisses a breath through his clenched teeth, his hand tangling in Mats hair. Mats would normally smile, maybe pull off at this point and laugh at Bene, and then maybe rummage for a condom in one of the little drawers under the table. This time he feels the desperation running through him like a hunger, and he keeps going, achingly slow till Bene is thrusting up against him, and his fingers are digging in to his scalp, and he's making helpless noises.

“Mats..” He says, “Mats. Mats..” He wouldn't beg, but it was as closer as he'd ever come. Mats swallows, once, then again and again until Bene's stopped shaking against him and his fingers loosen to carding gently through his hair.

Mats stumbles to the bathroom, rinses out his mouth and doesn't look in the mirror. He stands there after a bit just letting the cold water run over his hands till they were red and felt stung. Bene comes in, after a while, and shuts off the tap, wraps his hands around Mat's and buries his face in between Mats' shoulder blades.

“Happy birthday.” Mats says, and Bene lifts his head, surprised in to a laugh. Mats smiles at him in the mirror, and turns to kiss him again.

 

                                                                                                                *              *              * 

Mats doesn't stay for the night, because he has team practice early the next day. Bene doesn't say anything, just kisses him goodbye at the door, wordless. Mats wants to tell him to yell at him, if it would make him feel better, that the words they don't speak will one day burst out of them and then they will be what Mats was afraid they will end up being anyway. Strangers.

He pulls Bene close, in the end, and whispers “Promise me you won't give up on us.” He thought Bene would just stay silent, but he says. “I won't.”

“Okay.” Mats says. “Okay.”

 

_He remembers the first time they met. 2006, training camp. A tow headed boy laughing and tussling with Bastian and Lukas. He looks up, and the laugh mellows in to something sweeter, a smile that lights up his face just the same. Mats can't look away. They shake hands, and the boy says- “I'm Benedikt Howedes. I play for Schalke. You?”_

 


End file.
